


Imagine

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, POV Second Person, Sherlock daydreams, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock... daydreams, for lack of a better word, about his relationship with John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything.  
> Not beta'd or Brit-picked, any mistakes are mine.

Imagine, for a moment, that you were wired differently. Or, perhaps, that you could choose differently. I have, a million times.

Now imagine that you  _did_ choose differently. That you chose me. Unlikely, I know. Perhaps impossible. But that's the wonderful thing about the human imagination: it can picture the impossible, make it seem real.

Imagine, next, that I didn't know that you had chosen me. Also unlikely. If you chose me, I'd likely know it before you did. But imagine.

Imagine -- and here is where it gets really hypothetical, because even if you had chosen me and I didn't know, I wouldn't act on my own choice, you, not if I didn't know -- that one day I grew bored. That part, of course, is easy to imagine. Imagine also that this time, I grew bored of our friendship. Not in the way you might think, though. If this happened, if I did grow bored of our friendship, it would be because it wasn't enough, because I wanted more.

But we are only imagining, remember. 

Now imagine that I decided to do something about this boredom. Imagine that I decided to disturb the status quo.

It would happen suddenly. Neither of us would expect it, but both of us would agree afterwards that the timing had been perfect. That everything had been perfect.

I don't know exactly how this next part would go. I've pictured a thousand different ways it could happen, and in this imaginary scenario, so have you.

Would it happen at home? Would you be sitting on the sofa, watching telly, and I'd flop down and sprawl out, my head resting in your lap? Would you pretend to be angry, but obviously not mind, judging by the red of your face and the way you stammered? And then, would I reach up, hand at the back of your neck to pull you down, and then lean up to meet you halfway?

Or would it be after a case? High on adrenaline, would I pull you into an alley and shove you up against a brick wall? Would I suddenly realise what I was doing and start to pull back? And instead of letting me go, would your hands circle around my forearms, refusing to allow me to move? Perhaps I'd be shocked. Perhaps not.

"People will talk," I'd say.

"Let them," you'd reply, and pull me down to press your lips against mine. 

Or maybe the kiss would come later. Maybe we'd be at Angelo's, having dinner. I would be nervous, hoping that this would go well. I would, of course, have been planning it for weeks.

I'd stand up and move around the table to you. You'd look at me in confusion, but that wouldn't stop me. I'd drop to one knee -- a bit early, true, considering we wouldn't even be in a relationship yet at that point, but convention has always been boring -- and pull out a box, opening it to reveal a small gold band. And then I'd ask: "Will you marry me?"

An unnecessary question, you'd know as soon as I knelt down, but it's one thing that shouldn't be left out. Tradition, and that sort of thing.

And then, maybe, you'd jump out of your seat and wrap your arms around me, maybe sobbing with happiness. Maybe then we'd kiss. Or maybe it would happen later. It wouldn't matter. We'd both be too happy to care.

Imagine, now, one more thing. Imagine that this is real. That it's what you want as well as what I want. That you wouldn't push me away, wouldn't be furious, wouldn't leave if I acted on these impulses.

In reality, you would. Which is why, in reality, I'll never tell you. Never do anything about it. I refuse to lose you for something as ridiculous as my  _feelings._

All I can do is imagine.


End file.
